Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles Ch.VII-XIII
`
` She was walking away when John sprang after her, and caught her `
` by the arm. `
` `
` "Mary"--his voice was very quiet now--"are you in love with this `
` fellow Bauerstein?" `
` `
` She hesitated, and suddenly there swept across her face a strange `
` expression, old as the hills, yet with something eternally young `
` about it. So might some Egyptian sphinx have smiled. `
` `
` She freed herself quietly from his arm, and spoke over her `
` shoulder. `
` `
` "Perhaps," she said; and then swiftly passed out of the little `
` glade, leaving John standing there as though he had been turned `
` to stone. `
` `
` Rather ostentatiously, I stepped forward, crackling some dead `
` branches with my feet as I did so. John turned. Luckily, he `
` took it for granted that I had only just come upon the scene. `
` `
` "Hullo, Hastings. Have you seen the little fellow safely back to `
` his cottage? Quaint little chap! Is he any good, though, really?" `
` `
` "He was considered one of the finest detectives of his day." `
` `
` "Oh, well, I suppose there must be something in it, then. What a `
` rotten world it is, though!" `
` `
` "You find it so?" I asked. `
` `
` "Good Lord, yes! There's this terrible business to start with. `
` Scotland Yard men in and out of the house like a jack-in-the-box! `
` Never know where they won't turn up next. Screaming headlines in `
` every paper in the country--damn all journalists, I say! Do you `
` know there was a whole crowd staring in at the lodge gates this `
` morning. Sort of Madame Tussaud's chamber of horrors business `
` that can be seen for nothing. Pretty thick, isn't it?" `
` `
` "Cheer up, John!" I said soothingly. "It can't last for ever." `
` `
` "Can't it, though? It can last long enough for us never to be `
` able to hold up our heads again." `
` `
` "No, no, you're getting morbid on the subject." `
` `
` "Enough to make a man morbid, to be stalked by beastly `
` journalists and stared at by gaping moon-faced idiots, wherever `
` he goes! But there's worse than that." `
` `
` "What?" `
` `
` John lowered his voice: `
` `
` "Have you ever thought, Hastings--it's a nightmare to me--who `
` did it? I can't help feeling sometimes it must have been an `
` accident. Because--because--who could have done it? Now `
` Inglethorp's out of the way, there's no one else; no one, I mean, `
` except--one of us." `
` `
` Yes, indeed, that was nightmare enough for any man! One of us? `
` Yes, surely it must be so, unless----- `
` `
` A new idea suggested itself to my mind. Rapidly, I considered `
` it. The light increased. Poirot's mysterious doings, his `
` hints--they all fitted in. Fool that I was not to have thought `
` of this possibility before, and what a relief for us all. `
` `
` "No, John," I said, "it isn't one of us. How could it be?" `
` `
` "I know, but, still, who else is there?" `
` `
` "Can't you guess?" `
` `
` "No." `
` `
` I looked cautiously round, and lowered my voice. `
` `
` "Dr. Bauerstein!" I whispered. `
` `
` "Impossible!" `
` `
` "Not at all." `
` `
` "But what earthly interest could he have in my mother's death?" `
` `
` "That I don't see," I confessed, "but I'll tell you this: Poirot `
` thinks so." `
` `
` "Poirot? Does he? How do you know?" `
` `
` I told him of Poirot's intense excitement on hearing that Dr. `
` Bauerstein had been at Styles on the fatal night, and added: `
` `
` "He said twice: 'That alters everything.' And I've been thinking. `
` You know Inglethorp said he had put down the coffee in the hall? `
` Well, it was just then that Bauerstein arrived. Isn't it `
` possible that, as Inglethorp brought him through the hall, the `
` doctor dropped something into the coffee in passing?" `
` `
` "H'm," said John. "It would have been very risky." `
` `
` "Yes, but it was possible." `
` `
` "And then, how could he know it was her coffee? No, old fellow, I `
` don't think that will wash." `
` `
` But I had remembered something else. `
` `
` "You're quite right. That wasn't how it was done. Listen." And `
` I then told him of the coco sample which Poirot had taken to be `
` analysed. `
` `
` John interrupted just as I had done. `
` `
` "But, look here, Bauerstein had had it analysed already?" `
` `
` "Yes, yes, that's the point. I didn't see it either until now. `
` Don't you understand? Bauerstein had it analysed--that's just it! `
` If Bauerstein's the murderer, nothing could be simpler than for `
` him to substitute some ordinary coco for his sample, and send `
` that to be tested. And of course they would find no strychnine! `
` But no one would dream of suspecting Bauerstein, or think of `
` taking another sample--except Poirot," I added, with belated `
` recognition. `
` `
` "Yes, but what about the bitter taste that coco won't disguise?" `
` `
` "Well, we've only his word for that. And there are other `
` possibilities. He's admittedly one of the world's greatest `
` toxicologists----" `
` `
` "One of the world's greatest what? Say it again." `
` `
` "He knows more about poisons than almost anybody," I explained. `
` "Well, my idea is, that perhaps he's found some way of making `
` strychnine tasteless. Or it may not have been strychnine at all, `
` but some obscure drug no one has ever heard of, which produces `
` much the same symptoms." `
` `
` "H'm, yes, that might be," said John. "But look here, how could `
` he have got at the coco? That wasn't downstairs?" `
` `
` "No, it wasn't," I admitted reluctantly. `
` `
` And then, suddenly, a dreadful possibility flashed through my `
` mind. I hoped and prayed it would not occur to John also. I `
` glanced sideways at him. He was frowning perplexedly, and I drew `
` a deep breath of relief, for the terrible thought that had `
` flashed across my mind was this: that Dr. Bauerstein might have `
` had an accomplice. `
` `
` Yet surely it could not be! Surely no woman as beautiful as Mary `
` Cavendish could be a murderess. Yet beautiful women had been `
` known to poison. `
` `
` And suddenly I remembered that first conversation at tea on the `
` day of my arrival, and the gleam in her eyes as she had said that `
` poison was a woman's weapon. How agitated she had been on that `
` fatal Tuesday evening! Had Mrs. Inglethorp discovered something `
` between her and Bauerstein, and threatened to tell her husband? `
` Was it to stop that denunciation that the crime had been `
` committed? `
` `
` Then I remembered that enigmatical conversation between Poirot `
` and Evelyn Howard. Was this what they had meant? Was this the `
` monstrous possibility that Evelyn had tried not to believe? `
` `
` Yes, it all fitted in. `
` `
` No wonder Miss Howard had suggested "hushing it up." Now I `
` understood that unfinished sentence of hers: "Emily herself----" `
` And in my heart I agreed with her. Would not Mrs. Inglethorp `
` have preferred to go unavenged rather than have such terrible `
` dishonour fall upon the name of Cavendish. `
` `
` "There's another thing," said John suddenly, and the unexpected `
` sound of his voice made me start guiltily. "Something which `
` makes me doubt if what you say can be true." `
` `
` "What's that?" I asked, thankful that he had gone away from the `
` subject of how the poison could have been introduced into the `
` coco. `
` `
` "Why, the fact that Bauerstein demanded a post-mortem. He `
` needn't have done so. Little Wilkins would have been quite `
` content to let it go at heart disease." `
` `
` "Yes," I said doubtfully. "But we don't know. Perhaps he `
` thought it safer in the long run. Some one might have talked `
` afterwards. Then the Home Office might have ordered exhumation. `
` The whole thing would have come out, then, and he would have been `
` in an awkward position, for no one would have believed that a man `
` of his reputation could have been deceived into calling it heart `
` disease." `
` `
` "Yes, that's possible," admitted John. "Still," he added, "I'm `
` blest if I can see what his motive could have been." `
` `
` I trembled. `
`
` She was walking away when John sprang after her, and caught her `
` by the arm. `
` `
` "Mary"--his voice was very quiet now--"are you in love with this `
` fellow Bauerstein?" `
` `
` She hesitated, and suddenly there swept across her face a strange `
` expression, old as the hills, yet with something eternally young `
` about it. So might some Egyptian sphinx have smiled. `
` `
` She freed herself quietly from his arm, and spoke over her `
` shoulder. `
` `
` "Perhaps," she said; and then swiftly passed out of the little `
` glade, leaving John standing there as though he had been turned `
` to stone. `
` `
` Rather ostentatiously, I stepped forward, crackling some dead `
` branches with my feet as I did so. John turned. Luckily, he `
` took it for granted that I had only just come upon the scene. `
` `
` "Hullo, Hastings. Have you seen the little fellow safely back to `
` his cottage? Quaint little chap! Is he any good, though, really?" `
` `
` "He was considered one of the finest detectives of his day." `
` `
` "Oh, well, I suppose there must be something in it, then. What a `
` rotten world it is, though!" `
` `
` "You find it so?" I asked. `
` `
` "Good Lord, yes! There's this terrible business to start with. `
` Scotland Yard men in and out of the house like a jack-in-the-box! `
` Never know where they won't turn up next. Screaming headlines in `
` every paper in the country--damn all journalists, I say! Do you `
` know there was a whole crowd staring in at the lodge gates this `
` morning. Sort of Madame Tussaud's chamber of horrors business `
` that can be seen for nothing. Pretty thick, isn't it?" `
` `
` "Cheer up, John!" I said soothingly. "It can't last for ever." `
` `
` "Can't it, though? It can last long enough for us never to be `
` able to hold up our heads again." `
` `
` "No, no, you're getting morbid on the subject." `
` `
` "Enough to make a man morbid, to be stalked by beastly `
` journalists and stared at by gaping moon-faced idiots, wherever `
` he goes! But there's worse than that." `
` `
` "What?" `
` `
` John lowered his voice: `
` `
` "Have you ever thought, Hastings--it's a nightmare to me--who `
` did it? I can't help feeling sometimes it must have been an `
` accident. Because--because--who could have done it? Now `
` Inglethorp's out of the way, there's no one else; no one, I mean, `
` except--one of us." `
` `
` Yes, indeed, that was nightmare enough for any man! One of us? `
` Yes, surely it must be so, unless----- `
` `
` A new idea suggested itself to my mind. Rapidly, I considered `
` it. The light increased. Poirot's mysterious doings, his `
` hints--they all fitted in. Fool that I was not to have thought `
` of this possibility before, and what a relief for us all. `
` `
` "No, John," I said, "it isn't one of us. How could it be?" `
` `
` "I know, but, still, who else is there?" `
` `
` "Can't you guess?" `
` `
` "No." `
` `
` I looked cautiously round, and lowered my voice. `
` `
` "Dr. Bauerstein!" I whispered. `
` `
` "Impossible!" `
` `
` "Not at all." `
` `
` "But what earthly interest could he have in my mother's death?" `
` `
` "That I don't see," I confessed, "but I'll tell you this: Poirot `
` thinks so." `
` `
` "Poirot? Does he? How do you know?" `
` `
` I told him of Poirot's intense excitement on hearing that Dr. `
` Bauerstein had been at Styles on the fatal night, and added: `
` `
` "He said twice: 'That alters everything.' And I've been thinking. `
` You know Inglethorp said he had put down the coffee in the hall? `
` Well, it was just then that Bauerstein arrived. Isn't it `
` possible that, as Inglethorp brought him through the hall, the `
` doctor dropped something into the coffee in passing?" `
` `
` "H'm," said John. "It would have been very risky." `
` `
` "Yes, but it was possible." `
` `
` "And then, how could he know it was her coffee? No, old fellow, I `
` don't think that will wash." `
` `
` But I had remembered something else. `
` `
` "You're quite right. That wasn't how it was done. Listen." And `
` I then told him of the coco sample which Poirot had taken to be `
` analysed. `
` `
` John interrupted just as I had done. `
` `
` "But, look here, Bauerstein had had it analysed already?" `
` `
` "Yes, yes, that's the point. I didn't see it either until now. `
` Don't you understand? Bauerstein had it analysed--that's just it! `
` If Bauerstein's the murderer, nothing could be simpler than for `
` him to substitute some ordinary coco for his sample, and send `
` that to be tested. And of course they would find no strychnine! `
` But no one would dream of suspecting Bauerstein, or think of `
` taking another sample--except Poirot," I added, with belated `
` recognition. `
` `
` "Yes, but what about the bitter taste that coco won't disguise?" `
` `
` "Well, we've only his word for that. And there are other `
` possibilities. He's admittedly one of the world's greatest `
` toxicologists----" `
` `
` "One of the world's greatest what? Say it again." `
` `
` "He knows more about poisons than almost anybody," I explained. `
` "Well, my idea is, that perhaps he's found some way of making `
` strychnine tasteless. Or it may not have been strychnine at all, `
` but some obscure drug no one has ever heard of, which produces `
` much the same symptoms." `
` `
` "H'm, yes, that might be," said John. "But look here, how could `
` he have got at the coco? That wasn't downstairs?" `
` `
` "No, it wasn't," I admitted reluctantly. `
` `
` And then, suddenly, a dreadful possibility flashed through my `
` mind. I hoped and prayed it would not occur to John also. I `
` glanced sideways at him. He was frowning perplexedly, and I drew `
` a deep breath of relief, for the terrible thought that had `
` flashed across my mind was this: that Dr. Bauerstein might have `
` had an accomplice. `
` `
` Yet surely it could not be! Surely no woman as beautiful as Mary `
` Cavendish could be a murderess. Yet beautiful women had been `
` known to poison. `
` `
` And suddenly I remembered that first conversation at tea on the `
` day of my arrival, and the gleam in her eyes as she had said that `
` poison was a woman's weapon. How agitated she had been on that `
` fatal Tuesday evening! Had Mrs. Inglethorp discovered something `
` between her and Bauerstein, and threatened to tell her husband? `
` Was it to stop that denunciation that the crime had been `
` committed? `
` `
` Then I remembered that enigmatical conversation between Poirot `
` and Evelyn Howard. Was this what they had meant? Was this the `
` monstrous possibility that Evelyn had tried not to believe? `
` `
` Yes, it all fitted in. `
` `
` No wonder Miss Howard had suggested "hushing it up." Now I `
` understood that unfinished sentence of hers: "Emily herself----" `
` And in my heart I agreed with her. Would not Mrs. Inglethorp `
` have preferred to go unavenged rather than have such terrible `
` dishonour fall upon the name of Cavendish. `
` `
` "There's another thing," said John suddenly, and the unexpected `
` sound of his voice made me start guiltily. "Something which `
` makes me doubt if what you say can be true." `
` `
` "What's that?" I asked, thankful that he had gone away from the `
` subject of how the poison could have been introduced into the `
` coco. `
` `
` "Why, the fact that Bauerstein demanded a post-mortem. He `
` needn't have done so. Little Wilkins would have been quite `
` content to let it go at heart disease." `
` `
` "Yes," I said doubtfully. "But we don't know. Perhaps he `
` thought it safer in the long run. Some one might have talked `
` afterwards. Then the Home Office might have ordered exhumation. `
` The whole thing would have come out, then, and he would have been `
` in an awkward position, for no one would have believed that a man `
` of his reputation could have been deceived into calling it heart `
` disease." `
` `
` "Yes, that's possible," admitted John. "Still," he added, "I'm `
` blest if I can see what his motive could have been." `
` `
` I trembled. `
`